For a recent visit to the gardens, I took along all my prints of my BoW images so far to discuss with Saleem and get some feedback from some of the other regulars. It was a busy day and I’d not yet had chance to show anyone my prints when a fight broke out and we had to move out of the way quickly to avoid being involved in the scuffle.
We left soon after and I realised the next day that the tote bag, containing all the prints, was not in my rucksack. I went back early the next day to find that there had been a well-overdue tidy up of Saleem’s ‘house’ but there was no sign of my bag. It still has not been located.
I consoled myself that at least everything in the lost/stolen bag was replaceable, albeit at not inconsiderable cost. But then I remembered that the bag also contained my BoW notebook with daily scribbles, musings, ideas going back to February.
Firstly, what the hell was I thinking taking it out of the flat before transcribing everything?
I hate hate hate losing things. It rarely happens and I find myself obsessing about the lost item(s). And in this case I feel bereaved. I’d deliberately not transcribed my notes yet for fear of premature judging and editing. I wanted to let all the ideas soak for a while. I wanted to keep my distance to give my thoughts and ramblings time to ferment into something marvellous or sour into insignificance. And now it is all gone.
Every bloody idea I have had about my BoW since I began.
I have been trying to recall the way the words looked on the page. Trying to glimpse and grasp and pin something, anything, down. Trying to salvage at least one thread of an idea from this catastrophe. Trying not to be discouraged.